


The Fifth Weapon

by silverr



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Marriage Traditions, Alien Rituals, F/F, First Contact, Language Barrier, Ritual Combat, Space Marines of a sort, Worldbuilding, Xenolinguistics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: Not that she was feeling rattled; no, it was more theunrealityof what was happening: here she was, millions of miles from home, in ritual combat with an alien who she was finding increasingly fascinating—and okay, kind of hot?
Relationships: Female Human Warrior/Female Alien Warrior
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63
Collections: Just Married Exchange 2020





	The Fifth Weapon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilToTheCore13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilToTheCore13/gifts).



.

.

"How many rounds is this again?" Marya asked, panting a little and twisting the top off a hydration bulb while the med-bot dabbed various things on her wounds. 

Commander Stingray frowned slightly, but said only, "Three down. Two to go." What she didn't say was _We're counting on you, Hansen_ or _The success of the entire mission is riding on you, Hansen_ or anything like that.

She didn't have to: Marya knew the stakes. "Right," she said. "No problem, sir. I can do it."

Grenakir-12 was a mid-sized planet in a mid-sized system previously considered unremarkable, but a decade ago surveyors had discovered massive deposits of the rare element that everyone except astral engineers called "anti-fret." As anti-fret was the key component in quantum drives, a scramble had begun to negotiate with the Grenakir for access to this resource.

As it turned out, the planet's many warring clans had no interest in having Terrans swoop in and raid their planet's mineral riches, unless those riches were in an enemy's territory. (Not that the Grenakir had any use for anti-fret themselves; no, they were solidly pre-industrial.) Thus far, no one had managed to transport anything but body bags off the planet when using force, so Company 37's P-TBs had uncharacteristically decided that, in the long run, diplomacy was the way to go. After careful study, the socio-archies had picked the Pinilana clan as the most approachable for this purpose, and had, after a few bumps, announced that they'd made enough of what they considered progress for the next step in negotiations to begin. 

As Lapio, the Company's lead socio-archie had explained the day before, that next step was for someone from Company 37 to engage in ritual combat with the Pinilana's chosen champion.

"Combat?" Valtava had asked. He was the resident bulldozer, a mountain of muscle who required specially reinforced seats on their transport.

"Ritual combat," Lapio had said carefully, "with what are probably very fragile ceremonial weapons."

"Oh." Valtava sounded disappointed.

"Also," Lapio had added, "from what we can tell, all the Grenakir we've had contact so far are what we'd consider female. It's probably best if we follow their lead on that when selecting our participant for the ritual, but you could be on standby in case they send a male."

"Okay," Valtava had said, and then gone back to repairing his boots.

"Ritual?" Marya had asked. "So it'll be pretend fighting, and I just need to go through the motions?" It was disappointing: not only was she was fully combat trained, she'd been studying various martial arts almost since since she could walk. It sucked that she wouldn't get to use any of that.

"Oh, I'm certain they'll want a real fight," Lapio had assured her. "Chances are they'll be insulted if you don't draw blood from their champion at least once, so you should plan to go all out at first."

Stingray had scowled. "You're sure that's what they'll want? We don't want to start a war here."

Lapio had nodded. "I'm sure. A key step in diplomatic relations is establishing mutual respect, and since the public face of all the Grenakir clans we've seen is primarily warriors, it's probably a valid tactic—"

"To show respect by beating the crap out of them in public?"

"More or less."

"How much crap are we talking about?" Stingray had asked. "I assume Hansen should stop short of serious injury?" 

Lapio had glanced at Hidas, the exolinguist, still frantically trying to develop a Grenakir lexicon. "As far as we can tell… probably."

"So dislocations, superficial flesh wounds, and broken limb bones are okay, but head trauma, internal injuries, or anything that would make them bleed out isn't?" Marya had asked. Like Stingray, she liked to be clear on exactly where the lines were drawn.

"I think so," Lapio had said.

Stingray had given an irritated growl and folded her arms. "And will they draw the line in the same place? I'm not willing to lose Hansen unless we're sure this will work."

"Honestly? We don't know enough about their culture yet to say with absolute certainty that this will work."

"But your educated guess is that it will?" Marya asked. "It's worth it, if we get a treaty or a trade agreement out of it."

Lapio had sighed and shook his head. "Based on general principles, it should work, but without knowing all the variables, I can't be one hundred percent sure."

Stingray had nodded once and said, "Well then, Hansen, it's up to you."

"I think it's worth a try, sir," she said. 

And that was how Marya Kemena Hansen, Valor Insignia Level 3, had wound up determined to engage in ritual combat with the champion of the Pinilana clan.

Three days had passed before the camp was approached by six cloaked Grenakir, one tall and five shorter, who were carrying a weathered chest the size and shape of a coffin. The aliens had stopped twenty meters or so in front of the camp's gate, set down the coffin, and stood waiting.

Valtava, who with the rest of Company 37 had scrambled to attention in the center of the camp, nudged Marya. "Betcha the big one is their champion," he had said. "Maybe I'll get to fight after all."

"Quiet!" Stingray had rumbled.

Lapio, Hidas and four guards—"Four, and only four!" Lapio had cautioned—had gone out to meet the Grenakir. 

Several half-spoken, half-pantomimed exchanges had followed, during which those Grenakir not speaking or gesturing had intently watched the trees and hills surrounding the camp.

"They're nervous about something," Marya had muttered. "That can't be good."

At last Lapio had led his group back to the camp; the aliens followed, though instead of entering the encampment they had taken up positions just to the left of the gate, with their backs against the fence.

 _Defensive position,_ Marya had thought. _Also not good._

Lapio had motioned to her to step forward. "I advise a staging area about ten meters outside the gate," he had said, "midway between the gate and where they stopped on their initial approach. Are you ready?"

Marya had glanced over at Hidas, who had set up the translation equipment against the fence, right behind the Grenakir. "Sure. Any last minute info?"

"They are clearly saying 'five,' " Hidas had said absently. "I think that means you'll be fighting five rounds."

Marya had nodded, then asked quietly, "How will I know when to start, and who to fight?"

"Go out, bow, and follow their lead, but be on your guard. We still don't know exactly why they've decided to accept our overtures of friendship."

Marya had taken a deep breath, then walked out the gate, positioned herself a few meters away from the still-cloaked Grenakir, and bowed. 

In response, four of the small Grenakir had hoisted the coffin to their waists, and a fifth had opened it. Inside was what looked like an ordinary hourglass and four fairly lethal-looking weapons nestled in reddish-brown sand. The largest weapon was a staff, a variant of a monk's spade with a bigger fan-shaped blade and a bludgeon in place of the crescent; the second was a long folded leather strap with small spiked weights at either end; the third was a spiked shield with blade-like edges, and the fourth was a wide, curved falcata of blood-colored volcanic glass.

The Grenakir not holding up the coffin had lifted the hourglass and displayed it to Marya with elaborate emphasis, as if making sure she saw it.

"Gotcha," she had said, nodding.

The alien had then gestured at the weapons. 

"Do I pick?" Marya had asked without turning her head. "Will I be using a different weapon each round? If so, where's the fifth weapon?"

"We don't know," Lapio had said. "Just pick something and see how they react."

Slowly, keeping eye contact, Marya had stooped and picked up the monk's spade, noting that there was a second, identical monk's spade below it.

At this the Grenakir had all begun speaking rapidly in their language; after a moment, the tallest one had raised her—Hidas had confirmed that that was the proper pronoun for Marya to use—hand for silence, and then dropped her cloak.

One of the other Grenakir had said something to Marya, but even before Hidas began translating from the other side of the fence Marya had known it was an introduction.

"This is your—well, it's literally 'enemy' in every other instance we've captured," Hidas was saying, "but in this context I think it means 'opponent' or 'counterpart' or maybe even 'reflection' in the sense of a mirror image. Anyhow, I think it's safe to consider it her name. Rha'as Clysopa. The 'Rha'as' part might be a title, but we haven't accumulated enough words for me to be certain."

In Marya's opinion, if _Rha'as_ was a title, it probably meant something like "lethal badass."

Rha'as Clysopa was roughly humanoid, with two arms, two legs, a torso in the middle, and a disconcertingly human-looking face painted bright yellow above, but that was where the similarity to Terrans ended. Over two meters tall, corded with lean muscle, she also had huge, all-black eyes, wickedly long claws curving from her fingers and toes, and a mane of long stiff tentacles or spines, as thick as coaxial cables, cascading from the top of her head. Her neck and torso were light purple spattered with pale orange dots, and her arms and legs shaded into a faintly-striped reddish orange that reminded Marya of raw salmon. As if all that wasn't strange enough, she also had ridged amber-colored plates covering her chest and abdomen and jutting over her shoulders, elbows, knees, and hips.

"Is she wearing armor?" Marya asked. "Should I get my aramids?"

"No, it's not armor," Lapio replied after consulting an infojot. "It's more like… a partial chitinous exoskeleton? We've only come across this a few times before."

"Might be an indication of her status," Hidas chipped in.

Marya didn't care about status. "So it's part of her body?"

"Yes."

Which meant, Marya realized, that as far as the other Grenakir were concerned, Clysopa was fighting naked. 

_Mutual respect,_ Lapio had said. He had also made sure that the number of people in the Company 37 group was the same as the number of Grenakir, so it looked like maintaining parity was the way to go. 

Setting her weapon carefully on the ground, Marya slowly took off her boots, socks, and Company coverall, leaving her barefoot in shorts and a T-shirt. She was thus _theoretically_ almost as lightly clad as Clysopa—although eyeballing the Grenakir's exoskeleton made that seem like a joke. _We'd only be equally matched if my bones were adamantium,_ Marya thought, although when Clysopa murmured something and made a complicated, possibly respectful gesture with one of her clawed hands, Marya felt as though stripping down had been the right move after all.

Marya stooped to pick up her weapon as Clysopa turned to the chest and took out the second staff. The five escort Grenakir had shed their cloaks—they were all smaller, less elaborate versions of Rha'as Clysopa—the one holding the hourglass had upended it, and the first round had begun.

After an initial period of charging at each other and using the weapons like quarterstaves to test each other's strength —to her surprise, Marya was able to hold her own against the significantly taller alien, although Clysopa's head tentacles or whatever they were raised stinging welts wherever they brushed Marya's skin—Clysopa had backed off and switched to battering Marya's ribs with the bludgeon end. Marya dodged these blows as much as she could, waiting for an opening to make use of the bladed end of her weapon. When she'd finally scored a few shallow hits on the un-plated areas of Clysopa's body, she found out that Clysopa's blood was the same pale orange as her dots.

And then the hourglass had run out, and the Grenakir holding it stepped forward and solemnly reached out for Marya's weapon.

Marya didn't know if she was now supposed to pick up a different weapon, but the Grenakir seemed to be deliberately blocking her access to the coffin, and so she stopped.

At that point the med-bot had dashed out and started to dab a neutralizing agent on the welts from Clysopa's tentacles. This procedure was watched with great interest by the Grenakir; as the 'bot retreated Rha'as Clysopa said something which to Marya's ears it sounded like the rising inflection of a question, but when she looked to Hidas and Lapio for help, they shrugged and looked blank.

Rha'as Clysopa then made a musical, chittering sound as she raked her claws through her mane, an action which seemed to change the color of the tentacles from a dark blackish-brown to a slightly lighter shade of blackish-brown.

After this the hourglass-Grenakir had lifted the weighted straps from the chest and handed them to Marya and Clysopa, and thus begun round two. 

Marya had been less sure what to do with this second weapon: while she was trying to recall if she'd seen any bolas videos, Clysopa swung the strap in a low arc that wrapped around Marya's shins and knocked her off balance. Before Marya could react she was flat on her back, and Clysopa was strangling her with the leather strap.

At least getting hit by the hair tentacles didn't sting anymore.

Either Clysopa wasn't putting her full weight on Marya, or she wasn't as heavy as Marya had expected, because for all her size, she felt as light as if she were hollow or made of fiberglass. As the edges of Marya's field of vision began to turn red she got a grip on the edge of Clysopa's belly plate; when she saw a nictitating membrane flicker over the alien's eyes as if in shock, she bucked up her hips and shoved Clysopa aside. After a few seconds of grappling, Marya was the one doing the strangling.

Marya dimly heard cheers and shouting from the camp, but her attention was focused on Clysopa's eyes, big as golf balls made of faceted onyx. They were weirdly beautiful, like jet beads from some enormous necklace…

And then something _bulged_ and _shifted_ under Marya's ass at the same instant that Clysopa's mouth opened and a narrow barbed grey tongue lashed out and licked the back of Mary's hand.

Startled, Marya had scrambled back, and then they both stood up and the round was over.

Marya, suddenly breathless, did some stretches and shook herself out. Not that she was feeling rattled; no, it was more the _unreality_ of what was happening: here she was, millions of miles from home, in ritual combat with—okay, with an alien who she was finding increasingly, disturbingly, fascinating. She glanced over at Commander Stingray, who nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Alrighty then," she murmured, jogging in place and throwing a few shadow-punches. "Ready for round three."

Round three was the spiked shield with the deadly edges, which Clysopa wielded with such precision that Marya's shirt and shorts were half shredded before her muscle memory for blocking offensive attacks kicked in. The sweeping overhead blows—very effective because of Clysopa's height—certainly offered tempting openings for attack, but Marya knew she'd likely get in only one good jab with the shield spike before her arm was sliced off. She gradually sank down into a half-squat, the bones in her shield arm beginning to ache from the impacts. When a quick glance at the hourglass showed the round almost done, she put her free left hand down to steady herself, then kicked her right leg out at Clysopa's ankles with all her might.

There might have been a snapping sound as the alien went down.

The Grenakir ran out to Clysopa and helped her stand. While their inscrutable looks seemed hostile, the Rha'as herself made a point of turning to Marya and making another of the elaborate gestures, this time finishing by closing her eyes and inclining her head before she hobbled off the field.

Marya left the shield on the ground and retreated to the gate, where Valtava and Lapio had set up a chair for her. 

"How many rounds is this again?" Marya asked, taking a hydration bulb from Tukio while the med-bot dabbed various things on her wounds. The incisions on her midriff were superficial, but there was one on her left arm that was still bleeding. Deep enough to require a butterfly bandage.

Stingray frowned slightly. "Three down. Two to go." 

"Right," she said. "No problem. I can do it."

Lapio hurried over. "This is fantastic," he said. "We're getting a _ton_ of material. The non-combatants have been talking non-stop."

"Good." She shaded her eyes and squinted at the fence; it looked like the Grenakir were tending to their Rha'as. Marya hoped she hadn't done any permanent damage.

When the camp med-bot was done Marya walked back to the gate. The Grenakir had wrapped Clysopa's ankle in a sort of camouflage bandage that was nearly invisible. 

When she saw Marya looking she lifted her leg and rotated the wrapped ankle out toward Marya as if to say, "Look what you did to me!"

Marya grinned and, turning so that her left arm was visible to the Grenakir, pulled up her shredded sleeve and displayed the butterfly bandage.

Clysopa opened her mouth and bared her teeth, obviously trying to mimic Marya's smile—which would have been less off-putting if the alien's mouth wasn't filled with gray, jagged shark teeth.

Marya held up four fingers. "Round four?" 

Clysopa held up four claws and in return said something that almost sounded like _Rao foe_ , then took both of the red glass falcatas from the coffin. There was a ripple of tension in the camp as she walked toward Marya, but when she was a few paces away she flipped one of the swords, caught it by the blade-tip, and held the hilt out to Marya.

Marya took it, and giving a slight bow, performed a formal fencing salute; Clysopa gave a musical chirp, and then repeated the actions flawlessly.

Of all the martial arts Marya hadd ever studied, fencing and _kendo_ had been by far her favorites. Even though Company 37 didn't have much use for them, Marya had continued to keep her sword skills sharp. The Grenakir weapon was a beauty, perfectly balanced, it felt like an extension of her arm. Gorgeous and deadly.

She made some trial movements, then stood intent, watching the hourglass-bearer so that she could engage the instant the round began. She knew Clysopa would be a great opponent, relentless in attack, blurringly fast on defense: she was ready and waiting for that. 

As she'd known it would be, it was a joy to fight her. By the end of the round Marya was grinning and almost laughing, and Clysopa was making musical humming sounds as well: the ankle injury didn't seem to be holding her back at all. They had managed to hit each other only once: Marya had nicked Clysopa just above her left hip-plate, while Clysopa had scored a shallow cut just above Marya's jaw.

Marya hoped it would leave a scar. 

"Okay, what next?" she asked as she handed her sword to the hourglass-keeper. "What's the weapon for the last round?"

The Grenakir were in animated discussion with Clysopa. Maya knew it was a mistake to interpret alien behavior as if it were human, but to her non-socio-arche eyes it looked as though Clysopa had stated something that the other five Grenakir were trying to talk her out of.

She glanced at the Company 37 camp. Hidas and Lapio were bent over the equipment, engaged in their own rapid-fire discussion of phonemes and relations and conjunctions and emphasis pairs; Stingray stood, as always, feet solidly planted and arms crossed; behind her, Valtava was grinning. Tukio waved timidly.

Clysopa made an abrupt, emphatic sound that had a clear _Enough of this bullshit!_ intonation; the Grenakir all went silent, and the hourglass-bearer did something that looked a lot like cringing. When she did speak it was only a few words, one of which was definitely sounded to Marya like "Rha'as."

"Almost definitely an honorific," Marya heard Hidas say on the other side of the fence. "I'm tentatively marking the possible translations as 'monarch' or 'warlord' or 'arbiter' for now."

Clysopa stepped away from her—Marya supposed they were an escort?—and approached Marya. 

"Well?" Marya asked.

Clysopa pointed to the camp gate.

"You want to enter our camp?" Marya glanced over at Stingray, who unfolded their arms. "Well, okay. As long as you behave."

Stingray shouted, "Fallout! Columns!" 

A dozen armed grunts hurried out of the tempdomis at the back of the camp and positioned themselves in two facing lines on either side of the gate.

Clysopa stopped, and Marya said, "I don't think it's hostile intent."

Stingray caught a taser rifle tossed by Valtava, then said. "Never hurts to be safe, Hansen. Proceed."

Marya turned to Clysopa and said, "It's alright, Rha'as. Just don't make any sudden moves." 

They began to walk toward the gate again, and Marya saw with a prickle of wariness that the escort Grenakir weren't watching either the camp or their monarch-arbiter, but had turned their attention back to scanning the trees surrounding the camp. "Keep eyes on the hills," she said to Stingray. "Might be incoming hostiles."

"Noted," was the crisp response.

Clysopa stopped just before the invisible line separating "inside the camp" from "outside the camp" and squatted down. Smoothing the dirt, she poked a hole with her claw, pointed to herself, then looked up at Marya's face as if for confirmation.

"That's you?" Marya nodded. "Okay."

Clysopa then poked a second hole, then pointed at Marya.

Marya tapped her chest and said, "And that's me. Gotcha." 

Clysopa made the scary attempt at smiling again, then carefully drew a pentagram around the two holes. 

Marya pointed to the five Grenakir. "So we're in the middle, and they stand around us?"

Clysopa nodded, then swirled her hand in the air over the diagram.

Marya bit her lip. "And then... something happens?" She over at Lapio and Hidas, who were vidding and snapping between the line of defenders. "Any idea what's going on here?"

Lapio stroked his jaw. "She deliberately drew the diagram right on the periphery between our camp and Pinilana territory, so my guess is that it's some sort of liminal state."

"Liminal?"

"Threshold. The midpoint of transition between A and B."

"That's not really helpful, Laps."

"It's all I got, Hans," he replied. 

Hidas gasped. "Could it be a statement of diplomatic relation? Hansen's performance in the combat rite might have earned us acceptance."

Lapio gave a non-committal head-tilt. "Maybe?" he said slowly. "I don't want to jump to conclusions, but—"

"Yesssss." Clysopa's voice startled them all. She had stood up, and was pointing back and forth between herself and Marya, repeating over and over, _"Firdif im. Nuyrushni rha'as."_

It sounded urgent to Marya, so she looked at Hidas. "So? What's she saying?" 

Hidas clutched their headcover. "I don't know! We don't have enough parseables!" 

Marya knew what trying to rush the translations meant: it could lead to something as nonsensical as the infamous _it does not matter if you have an arrow in your teeth, if the hands that hold the bow are nowhere near it_ all over again. "Okay." She turned to Clysopa and said, "Alright. Since doing what the Grenakir do has worked so far, I'm gonna take a wild leap here then." She took a deep breath, then said, hoping she was pronouncing it right, _"Firdif im, nuyrushni rha'as?"_

Clysopa stood very still, then cupped Marya's face in her clawed hands. _"Nuyrushni,"_ she said very softly. "Yessss?"

Her entire body tingling, but with absolutely no idea what she was getting herself into, Marya put her hands carefully over Clysopa's clawed ones and said, "Yes. _Nuyrushni."_

Clysopa closed her eyes, and a shudder went through her, passing through her hands into Marya like a flash fire.

"Holy shit," Marya whispered, weak-kneed. 

"You okay there, Hansen?" Stingray shouted.

"Yes," she gasped, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm fine." Whatever Clysopa had passed to her was echoing and re-echoing throughout her body, making her nipples and clit reverberate like plucked guitar strings. When she opened her eyes she looked up to see the alien warrior looking down at her almost... tenderly? 

_If I'm imagining all of this,_ she thought, _I've got a better imagination than anyone's ever given me credit for._ She took her hands off Clysopa's, then shakily made the swirling motion over the diagram. "And now what?"

In response, Clysopa looked over her shoulder at the five Grenakir. 

As the two lines of soldiers tensed and gripped their rifles, the five clearly unarmed Grenakir came to stand in a circle around Clysopa and Marya. They placed themselves so that two of them were inside the gate, two just outside, and the fifth precisely on the dividing line.

"Liminal," Lapio said, sounding immensely pleased with himself.

The five then held their hands out to each other, as if they were about to clasp hands, but instead they started pulling wispy strands of something from each other's fingertips or claws. Strands as fine as spider's webs floated upwards in the humid air and accumulated like mist above the Grenakir's heads, consolidating until there was a rippling yellow-orange ring a meter high.

Marya, who had been looking up at the ring, felt a touch on her shoulder. Clysopa had done it to get her attention, and had raised her arms up over her head.

Marya did the same.

The ring moved inward and began to contract, thickening as it did so into a gauzy fabric. It fluttered for a moment just above Clysopa's claw-tips, then began to descend, still weaving itself into something more solid. After a few seconds the fabric circled them and then contracted a final time, as it did so dividing in half. A few seconds later both Marya and Clysopa were tightly sheathed from armpit to mid thigh in what looked like strapless dresses of mango-colored chiffon.

It was at that precise moment that the enemy emerged from the trees, although it wasn't apparent at first that they were the enemy. Other than the fact that some were carrying weapons and that their faces were painted pale avocado green instead of lemon-yellow, they were identical to Clysopa's Grenakir. They apparently had their own Rha'as, too, who held a long-handled axe as she led her group of three dozen or so toward the camp. 

Clysopa raced to the coffin and retrieved a spiked shield and a falcata, then charged out to meet the new Rha'as, who held up her hand to stop her forces.

The two alien warriors circled each other, speaking in low angry tones. 

As Hidas and Lapio hung over the fence trying to capture the encounter, Stingray came up to Marya and asked, "Any idea what's going on here?" Her eyes flicked over the mango wrapping, but she didn't say anything.

Marya shrugged. "Might be part of the ritual, sir," she said. "But Clysopa's group's been jittery since they arrived."

Lapio hurried over. "I'm going to advise we don't interfere unless the camp comes under direct attack," he said. 

"What about me?" Marya asked. "Any idea what's going on with this?" She gestured at the wrapping.

Lapio, who looked as though he very much wanted to snip a sample from Marya's dress, sighed. "My first impulse is to say that it's a symbolic binding of Grenakir and Terran, but I'll also admit that's wishful thinking."

Marya nodded. "Well, if that's the case, it might be a good idea if I go out there and stand with her."

"Denied," Stingray said.

"Permission to speak freely?" Marya said.

Stingray gave a curt nod.

"Just me going out there shouldn't be seen as a threat by the enemy, but on the other hand to Clysopa and her people it'll be a visible and decisive sign of our willingness to back up her clan."

"Two against thirty isn't going to fare much better than one against thirty."

"If they mob her and take her down, our best chance for open trade with this planet might die too."

Stingray squinted out to where the two aliens continued to shout at and circle each other. 

"Then too," Marya added, "the attackers don't seem to have much in the way of ranged weapons. If I go out there and they strike at me, it'll give you enough time to decide on the proper response."

Stingray flicked her eyes to give Marya a look that said plenty, but after another few seconds she said only, "Agreed."

Marya hurried over to the Grenakir, then pointed to the second shield and falcata. "I would like to use those, please."

The hourglass-bearer looked at her steadily for several seconds, then bowed, took the two weapons from the coffin, and held them out to her.

After Marya had taken the sword and shield, the hourglass-bearer produced a stiletto from somewhere, the remaining weapons were picked up by the other four Grenakir, and then the six of them hurried across the field to Clysopa. 

Marya wasn't sure afterwards if they reached Clysopa just in the nick of time, or if they had set the newcomers off; either way, the battle was on as soon as they arrived, and the two Rha'as fell on each other, fighting almost too fast for Marya's eye to follow. 

The five Grenakir began to space themselves around Clysopa and the enemy Rha'as in roughly the same positions they'd taken during the dress ritual, apparently to keep the rank-and-file enemy Grenakir from interfering with the central clash. Marya noticed that they were going for disabling the enemy rather than killing them: the defenders with the monk's spades were using the bludgeon ends to push the enemy back and down—it seemed a firm tap to the sternum was very effective in discouraging attack—and those with the strap weapons were using them to trip up attackers and then choke the more persistent into a daze, while the hourglass-bearer was apparently threatening anyone who came near her with a severe puncture wound from the stiletto. 

Marya fit herself into this circle of protection by using her shield to press and shove; if that didn't work, the hilt of the falcata was excellent for administering a knockout blow on the back of the neck to anyone who got past her.

At last, when all the attackers had retreated to the distant treeline with their wounded and unconscious comrades, Marya turned to see how Clysopa was doing.

Her Rha'as was standing over the enemy, her clawed foot on the other Grenakir's belly plate, holding the long-handled axe. Both Grenakir were bleeding from dozens of small wounds.

When she noticed Marya, Clysopa beckoned her over. _"Nuyrushni,"_ she said, _"ne alki nonka mul ne loyou."_

Marya was at a loss, but she heard rustling in the grass behind her, and turned to see Hidas and Lapio approached, followed by Stingray, Valtava, Tukio, and half the company.

"I'm not sure about the first word," Hidas said, staring intently at his jot, "but the rest is probably something like, _'Reveal the blood of the enemy with the weapon of the enemy.'_ "

"Okay." Marya turned back to Clysopa and the defeated Rha'as. Setting down her shield and her falcata, she went to stand next to Clysopa, then put her hand on the axe-handle next to Clysopa's.

 _"Niyla kelmu ponup,"_ Clysopa said, and together they drew the axe across the side of the fallen Rha'as' neck. Her eyes flashed white; her body changed from light purple and salmon to a deep green color, and then she turned onto her side, curled into a ball, and sank into the earth.

Clysopa lifted the axe, smeared one side on Marya's dress and the other on her own, then set down the axe. She then reached out with one claw and delicately wiped a drop of Marya's blood from the cut she'd inflicted during round four, and then wiped it carefully along the top of her dress. When Marya, in turn, dabbed some of Clysopa's blood onto her dress, the alien pulled Marya into a one-armed embrace as the surviving Grenakir rushed toward them making joyful noises.

Marya, nestled comfortably against Clysopa—their concaves and convexes matched up surprisingly well—noticed something odd. "Lapio," she asked, "Is it my imagination, or are the Grenakir calling _me_ Rha'as now too?"

Lapio's eyes got wide; a moment later he slapped Hidas on the upper arm. _"Nuyrushni!"_ he said. _"Nuyrushni!_ _Nuyrushni_ must mean 'consort' !" As Hidas' mouth gaped open Lapio added excitedly, "It has to, because if a _Rha'as_ is the equivalent of a queen, and if Marya is now being addressed as _rha'as_ as well, this whole thing might have been a wedding ritual!"

"Well, duh," Marya said, and even though she knew Clysopa couldn't possibly be following the conversation, she still felt her making the low humming sounds that she'd already decided were the Grenakir equivalent of laughter.

Stingray chuckled. "With this sword, I thee wed?"

"But the ritual was clearly stated as five rounds," Hidas said, frowning. "So what was the fifth weapon?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Marya said, and then Clysopa turned and embraced her fully, and she saw stars.

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_~ The End ~_

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_ © 2020 All rights reserved.  
Posted 1 August 2020; revised 20 August 2020. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Gauss for answering military tactics and terminology questions.
> 
> Some possible emoji for the comment-shy: 👾 ⚔️ 💥 💞 👰 ✨


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